The Haunting
by Lord of Kavaka
Summary: A Ghost Love Story. "He knew something was different the moment he stepped into the brownstone." Extremely AU. Caskett set in 1890. CastleHalloweenBash 2014 Entry
1. Summer 1890

**The Haunting - Chapter 1**

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><p><em>Summer 1890<em>

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><p>He knew something was different the moment he stepped into the brownstone. It had come at a steal, and the broker had seem eager to get it off his hands when Richard E. Castle, Esq. approached him about purchasing the property. Of course, he had just lost his law practice, so he supposed the nominal suffix could be dropped. So it was just Castle, Richard Castle. With the drastic shift in his income, Castle had been forced to move out of his upscale Manhattan loft and move into a run down brownstone on the other side of New York City. The house had stood vacant for a number of years. He had been told that the previous owners had been lawyers, but the broker had been vague in answering what had occurred to them and why the house had been up for sale.<p>

Intriguing as it was, Castle had other things on his mind. It was something he would leave to ponder on another occasion. The first order of business was to settle into his new home, and hope that fate would grant him a reprieve from his current struggles.

XXX

The brownstone had come fully furnished. Castle supposed that most of it was from the previous owners. A slight chill had permeated the house, so he had thrown open some of the windows to bring in the warm summer air.

The day was still young, so he decided to explore his new home. He really liked the parlor, the mahogany desk in the corner would be great for his writing, a talent he hoped to make an income from. The dinner room was small, but comfortable, and the lounge was more of library with shelves holding an array of books lining along the walls. The washroom was located upstairs, where he found a lovely cast iron lion claw tub.

There were two bedrooms upstairs—a master and a single. The smaller one had clearly belonged to a young woman. The flat surface of the vanity was still covered in a spread of fine combs and hairpins. There was a jewelry box, covered in a thin layer of dust. It caught his eye. Castle gently picked it up, and blew at the dust, before cracking it open to have a peek inside. He found several earrings and three necklaces.

As he examined a pair of emerald earrings, he noticed that the room began to grow cold. He shivered, feeling gooseflesh materialize along his arms and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

There was a sudden gust of wind, most likely from one of the opened windows, swept into the room, swirling around him as if it were a predator assessing its prey. The howl of the wind startled him to such a degree that he slammed the lid of the jewelry box shut, the snap resounding throughout the room. Shaking his head, and knitting his eyebrows together, he placed the jewelry box back onto its spot on the vanity before departing the room.

In the master bedroom, he found a portrait of the family that had once lived in the brownstone. The husband looked serious, but the purse of his lips belied the joy he found in the elegant woman beside him. She radiated class and sophistication. Sitting in an armchair before her parents was their daughter. Castle reached out and picked up the silver frame, holding the photograph out in front of him to look upon her features more closely.

The young woman was breathtakingly beautiful, with gorgeous eyes and a serene smile. Her high cheekbones gave her a classical beauty that was timeless, and Castle could not help but admire and marvel at the natural splendor that she had been blessed with.

A frown worked its way onto his features as he pondered the question of their sudden departure and why the brownstone had been sold at an extremely low rate with all their furniture and possessions. Sighing, Castle placed the frame back on the bureau, and went back downstairs to finish unpacking his own meager possessions. But as he passed the daughter's bedroom, he felt an odd tingle run down his spine. He paused, for just a moment, glancing over his shoulder at the open door, before shaking it off and walking back down the stairs.


	2. Fall 1890

**The Haunting – Chapter 2**

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><p><em>Fall 1890<em>

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><p>Castle had fully settled into life at the brownstone by the time the trees outside his front windows started displaying brilliant shades of oranges, browns, reds, and yellows. He had found a routine fairly easily. He would spend his morning perusing the books in the longue, and then have a light lunch, before spending the majority of the afternoon sitting at the mahogany desk writing, or at least attempting to write.<p>

Most of the time, he found himself pondering over what had become of the previous owners, in particular their beautiful daughter. Castle could not help himself. Every once in a while there would be some sort of odd occurrence that would unexpectedly remind him of the exquisite face of that smiling young woman.

For example, last month he had found a portrait in a small oval frame of just her. It had been hidden away in a cabinet in the parlor. The photograph was lovely, befitting of the young woman's effortless beauty. It was probably a little morbid and unhealthy behavior, but he kept the small photograph on the nightstand by his bed. Gazing at it helped him find sleep at night. It was something Castle could not explain. He was just drawn to her. He wished he had had the opportunity to know her.

XXX

Things got stranger over the last couple of months. He had begun to misplace items. His favorite fountain pen had gone missing, as well as his mother's ring, the only thing he had left of her. Martha Rodgers had been a grand old dame, a celebrated thespian. She had died some years prior of pneumonia after a performance of Shakespeare in the Park during a drizzly afternoon. He missed her terribly.

When he had told some of his neighbors about his missing items during a luncheon party a couple of weeks back, he had been told a tale of the previous owners, how a horrible tragedy had struck them and taken their energetic and beautiful nineteen year old daughter, Katherine, from them. She had been taken by a severe fever, but many believed she had been poisoned, a warning to her parents, who were well known philanthropists to the disenfranchised.

The gossip was that James Beckett, Esq. had been investigating a wrongly accused man with the aid of his wife, Johanna. Whatever they had uncovered had frightened some powerful and influential people. So rumor was the young Katherine was poisoned to warn them off. It had worked too. As soon after her death, James and Johanna had just vanished.

Castle found himself intrigued.

So over the past month, he spent some time down in the local court records office, as well as the New York Times offices, researching the case. Most of what he had been told was true. Young Katherine had died suddenly, struck down by a fever one night. But there were enough inconsistencies in the story to spark the pathways in Castle's mind. The case her parents had been working revolved around the death of an undercover Federal officer by the name of Robert Armen. An Italian gang enforcer by the name of Joseph Pulgatti had been arrested and sentenced for the crime. James and Johanna Beckett had been working at proving the man had been framed.

Castle spent many nights pouring over the records and newspaper articles. And though Pulgatti had died one year ago in a prison riot, Castle still wanted to finish James and Johanna's work, if not for justice, then to bring some peace to the soul of the beautiful Katherine Beckett.


	3. Winter 1891

**The Haunting – Chapter 3**

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><p><em>Winter 1891<em>

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><p>The brownstone creaked and groaned during the winter cold. Such things were natural in an old house, plus it was in need of repairs, so it did not bother him too much. Castle spent most nights curled up in bed, gazing longingly at the portrait of the long lost Katherine Beckett. He had learned a lot about her over the course of his research. She had been extraordinary. She had excelled at schooling, and probably could have easily broken barriers and done whatever she wanted. It was a little insane, but he almost felt like he was falling in love with a long forgotten memory.<p>

Part of him felt like she was still in the house. It was the only way he could explain how things would go missing, or mysteriously shift positions on the desktop or kitchen bench. It was nothing sinister, but it was enough to make him wonder. And if it was her, he was glad. In a strange, bizarre way, the idea that she was still there was oddly comforting.

It was on a cold January night that his fanciful musings proved to have some truth to them. He was hunched over a file on records he had obtained through a contact at the district attorney's office, when a sudden gust of chilly wind howled through the room. Gooseflesh materialized along his arms and legs, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The candles flickered and then went out, as if a fist had clenched around the burning wicks, snuffing them out.

All the windows were closed. And the front door was locked and bolted. There was no logical source for the mysterious gust of wind. Swallowing nervously, Castle squinted in the sudden darkness. The only light came from the moonlight, which filtered through the parted curtains. Swiveling around in his chair, Castle cautiously stood up. But halfway through the motion of standing, he was stopped. Something unseen was pushing on his chest, urging him back into the chair. Feeling his heart rate pick up, Castle complied, hoping it was just his imaginings.

But then he felt the soft phantom caress of a hand along his shoulder and his chair twirled around. He could have sworn he heard a soft giggle, but his heartbeat was pounding so loudly in his ears that it was drowning out all other sounds. Gripping the arms of the chair, Castle closed his eyes and prayed for the nightmare to end. The chair stopped with a sudden jerk, and he waited several moments until he cracked open one eye.

To his surprise, all the candles were lit, as if they had never gone out. He pursed his lips and gazed down at the file he had had open on the desk. Lying on top of the now closed file was his favorite fountain pen, the one that had gone missing. Castle picked it up and gasped when he discovered something had been written on the folder cover. Elegant script, evidence of a well schooled individual, stared back at him.

It read: _Stop._

XXX

Castle kept the hauntings—he could not think of any other way to describe them—to himself, fearing what others would think. After that night, he had decided to take a break from his research. His friends—what little he had—noticed his almost reclusive behavior, and had encouraged him to be more outgoing and social. He needed to do something normal. During a Christmas party last month, some mutual friends had introduced him to a woman, Miss Gina Cowell, daughter of a shipping magnate, hoping that a new relationship could help pull him out of his melancholy.

So, to that end, two nights after the incident in the parlor, Richard Castle stood before the vanity mirror in the master bedroom, dressed to impress, in his best evening jacket and ascot, hair perfectly groomed. He was going to call upon Miss Cowell and to put some space between him and the case of the young Katherine Beckett.


	4. Spring 1891 (part 1)

**The Haunting – Chapter 4**

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><p><em>Spring 1891<em>

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><p>Despite his best intentions, Castle was unable to completely pull back from investigating Pulgatti's case, and searching for a link to the untimely death of the young and beautiful Katherine Beckett. Even his relationship with Miss Gina Cowell was not enough to distract him from continuing his research. After the incident in January, the unexplained oddities persisted. His neatly organized desk would be rearranged. His favorite fountain pen would disappear for days at a time, only to reappear whenever he stumbled upon another message from the spirit that was haunting him.<p>

He did not know what to make of it. It was both worrisome and exciting. Only _he_ would get a thrill out of communicating with a specter from the great beyond. He would find notes, scribbled in that same elegant hand, all over the place, during odd hours of the day and night. The timing was random. It was nearly impossible to predict when or where a note would manifest. The one constant, however, was the message: _Stop_.

Sometimes it would be more than one word, more forceful. Others times it would be softer, more pleading. As a writer, Castle could tell that the author of these mysterious notes was conflicted. For a long time he was unwilling to even harbor the notion that the messages were being left by some spiritual phantom. It was an absurd idea, one that would surely land him in the asylum if spoken to anyone. But the messages persisted, as did his suspicions as to the author.

It was not until the messages started being signed with the initials "KB" that he began to accept the possibility that he really was being visited by the shade of the young Katherine Beckett. Having his suspicions confirmed, however, was both a blessing and a curse. During one of her afternoon visits, Gina discovered one of the notes, and not recognizing the handwriting, which was clearly feminine, accused him of having a mistress. The subsequent argument resulted in the termination of their courtship.

Several days after Gina had stormed out, Castle awoke to find a message for him on the nightstand by the bed, and, as always, his favorite fountain pen sat beside it. He picked up the scrap of paper, and read the elegant curved lettering, a small smile forming on his lips.

_I am sorry – KB_, it read.

Castle did not know what compelled him to do it, but something inside him just seemed convinced it would work. Picking up the pen, he scribbled out a reply: _It was not your fault – RC._ He left the paper on the nightstand and then got up out of bed, forgetting about it as he went about the rest of his day.

Castle had two appointments scheduled, both with potential. He spent part of the morning reading through some of the tomes in the lounge, before departing to meet up with a new acquaintance for lunch. He had met Kevin Ryan, a true Irish policeman if ever there was one, during a social gathering with Gina a few weeks back, and had mentioned his interest in the Pulgatti case. Ryan had offered to show him the police records, and answer any questions he might have. It was a relationship Castle intended on cultivating. It never hurt to have friends within the New York City Police Department.


	5. Spring 1891 (part 2)

**The Haunting – Chapter 5**

_Spring 1891_

Castle returned home buoyed, and in high spirits. His meeting with Kevin Ryan went extremely well. The young constable was intrigued by what Castle had to say and had learned so far. He had agreed that Katherine Beckett's death, in context, seemed suspect. Ryan was the first one to not call his secret obsession foolish or frivolous. He was more than willing to help. Smiling to himself, feeling pleased with how his day was going so far, Castle rushed upstairs, quickly changing out of his day coat and into a nice suit and tie for his afternoon interview with the editors of the New York Times book review.

On Gina's urging, he had sent them some of his short stories last month, and they had now requested a meeting to discuss his work. After arriving at the New York Times Manhattan offices, he soon learned that they wanted to publish his stories. The Chief Editor asked if he could produce a serial that they could print twice a month in the book review section of the paper. Castle was thrilled. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. One of his all-time favorite novelists, Charles Dickens, had sprung to fame with the 1836 serial publication of _The Pickwick Papers_. He readily agreed, signing a contract with the Times immediately.

Castle returned home on a natural high, a large beaming smile spread out across his face, the mysterious messages completely forgotten. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at his desk in the parlor, outlining the story he wanted to write for the serial publication. He was so focused on his work that he was only vaguely aware of the feeling that he was not really alone. A chilly breeze caressed the back of his neck, making the hairs stand on end. He glanced up, momentarily catching a glimpse of a bluish haze in the doorway. Frowning, he ignored the odd feeling, chalking it up to his imagination and being too absorbed with the story he was in the process of crafting.

Later that evening, he treated himself to a night out at a fancy restaurant and afterwards paid a hefty fee to enjoy the atmosphere of one of New York's most prestigious gentleman's club. It had probably been naïve of him to think otherwise, but he had been surprised when he learned that it was not just men sitting around in leather armchairs smoking cigars and swapping stories. He watched some of the wealthiest and most powerful men of New York slink off behind a velvet curtain with what he would call courtesans.

He was almost tempted when a perky blonde by the name of Jacinda made him an offer, but, even if he was so inclined, Castle had never been one to pay for female companionship. Besides, he had just ended a relationship, and he was not looking for a night of passion, especially one that came with a bill at the end. He politely declined her invitation and watched as she turned her attentions to the tall, dark, and handsome man who was sitting across from him. It had not taken long before Jacinda had Doctor Joshua Davidson following her into the backroom for a private consultation.

When he got home, Castle was still buzzing with the excitement over finally becoming a paid writer. Though having enjoyed his time in the gentleman's club, to a certain extent, he was more than pleased to be back home. He went upstairs, exhausted from his night out. Preparing to retire for the evening, Castle almost forgot about the note on the nightstand. But he caught sight of it as he climbed under his covers. His eyes went wide with shock.

She had replied.

_I am still sorry – KB._


	6. Summer 1891

**The Haunting – Chapter 6**

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><p><em>Summer 1891<em>

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><p>One year.<p>

It had been one year since Richard Castle had moved into the brownstone, and during that time, he had managed to make the place his own. Sure, he had kept the majority of the Becketts' furniture. It would have been a waste of good material to just toss it. Though, he had packed up some of their other possessions, storing them in the attic. Except for Katherine's room. He left that untouched.

When he had found her reply on that spring night, Castle had almost gone into a panic, the rational side of his brain overruling his heart. He could admit all he wanted that he had some strange desire to communicate with this specter, but actually seeing that happen was something else altogether. He had looked around every nook and cranny of the room, searching almost the entire house, to discover that he was, in fact, alone. Only then was he able to sleep with a restful mind.

Part of him wanted to believe in the supernatural, that Katherine Beckett was reaching out from the ethereal plane to communicate with him. But another part of him was starting to believe that he was actually going crazy. Perhaps it had been a mistake to end his relationship with Miss Gina Cowell. Without her, Castle rarely had much social contact with his fellow living human beings. He was going a little stir crazy all alone in the brownstone.

Over the course of the summer, Castle tried to spend more time outside, amongst the living. His morbid fascination with death and ethereal spirits was doing nothing for his social life. Constable Kevin Ryan and the editors at the New York Times were the few people he talked with on more than one occasion during the week. He would meet Ryan once a week to discuss and review the case against Joseph Pulgatti.

The last time he had visited Ryan, the young constable had pulled out the coroner's report on Katherine Beckett. It had been difficult for Castle to read the coroner's findings. However, a full postmortem examination had never been performed, since the Beckett family physician had declared her death the result of a severe fever. There had been no reason to dispute such findings. It was not an uncommon occurrence. Ryan had asked him if he wanted to get a court order to exhume the body to check if there were any residual signs that Katherine had been poisoned. Castle was reluctant to go that far. He had told Ryan that he would think about it.

On a brighter note, the newspaper editors, as well as the higher management, were very pleased with his serial, _Jameson Rook's Fantastical Guide to the World of the Unexplained_, a tale of an intrepid journalist who fell in love with Nicole, a beautiful ethereal spirit with a tragic past, and together they solved mysteries. It was a bit of wish fulfillment on his part. He had been worried, but they found the supernatural elements very enticing. The newspaper's readership even increased once his serial began publication. Anything dealing with the occult or the supernatural was in vogue.

The inspiration for his story had been oddly silent during the summer. He wondered if his brief panic over being watched, and subsequent time spent away from the brownstone during the day, had scared her off. Despite how insane it sounded, Castle actually wanted to see little messages from her again. He missed her, if that was even possible.

The idea came to him one evening while he was relaxing in the lounge, thumbing through a volume of mythology. It was some story about the shade of the departed having been wronged in life and needing to be appeased. He could not say what it was about the ancient tale that had inspired him, but nonetheless he was inspired. He grabbed a piece of paper and his favorite fountain pen, and went upstairs, heading for Katherine's bedroom.

It was chilly inside, and he shivered, his arms and legs coming alive with gooseflesh. _The cold must be an indicator_, he thought, since the temperature almost always seemed to drop during her visitations. Castle slowly breathed in and out, before making his way over to the vanity. He sat down on the cushioned chair and gently rearranged the stylish combs and hairpins off to the side, giving himself some room to spread out the paper on the flat surface of the vanity. Taking his fountain pen, he scribbled out a not in his tiny neat script.

_Are you still there?_

Castle placed the pen down, relaxing back into the chair, as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, awaiting a reply.


	7. Fall 1891

**The Haunting - Chapter 7**

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><p><em>Fall 1891<em>

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><p>Castle had not expected her to reply that very night, though he would be lying if he said he was not disappointed that there was no immediate response. He spent a good three hours waiting, before exhaustion caught up with him. He slinked off to bed with visions of an ethereal beauty in his head. The following morning, the first thing he did after waking up was check on the note. Part of him was not entirely surprised when there was still no reply.<p>

Despite the absurdity of it, Castle truly missed all those little messages from Katherine, even if all she was doing was pleading with him to stop his investigation into the Pulgatti case. He was worried that the way he had reacted last time she had replied to him had scared her off. Then again, he really did not know how it worked for her. She was not amongst the living, but still managed to exist, at least partially on this plane. Castle briefly pondered over the idea of hiring a medium to help him contact Katherine, however he quickly dismissed the idea. He did not want to involve anyone else in his relationship with the spirit of the beautiful woman who had died far too young.

Unable to just sit around and wait for her to reply, Castle kept himself busy, doing whatever he could to occupy his mind and not wonder over his motives in communicating with the shade. She remained silent for most of the summer. At one point, he started to worry that she was moving on, not that he would begrudge her if she did. He could only imagine what it must be like for her, trapped in a plane of existence where she could not easily communicate with those around her.

But just before the arrival of autumn, his ghostly companion made her presence known. The note, as well as his favorite fountain pen, had disappeared from where he had left them on the vanity in her room. Castle took that as proof that she was still with him. Furthermore, there were several instances where whichever room he was occupying at any given time would suddenly become chilly and cold for no logical reason.

It had to be her. He would not accept any other explanation for the pebbling of gooseflesh along his arms and legs, or the rising of hairs on the back of his neck.

In the meantime, he continued to work with Constable Kevin Ryan, taking meetings whenever he could. During his free time, the young Irishman had been slowly reviewing all the materials on the murder of the undercover Federal officer, Robert Armen. Ryan had learned that the only evidence that had linked Pulgatti to the crime was, quite literally, a smoking gun, found in the man's possession upon his arrest.

The rest of the evidence used against Pulgatti had been circumstantial. However, lack of solid evidence was not a deterrent to the courts of the day. Witness testimonials was more vital that hard evidence. And in Pulgatti's case, the only witness had been a shopkeeper who claimed to have seen him in the neighborhood, which, in Castle's opinion, was hardly enough proof to convict Pulgatti. Yet that was what had occurred. And now the man was dead, so they could obviously not question him about what really happened. Castle was still holding out hope that Katherine would deign to speak to him again.

Castle trudged up the front steps to the brownstone, tugging his overcoat more snuggly around his frame. The dark clouds above were an ominous warning that a storm was approaching. Unlocking the door, he slipped inside and bolted the lock shut, before taking his overcoat off and putting it away in the designated receptacle located to the right of the foyer. Rubbing his hands together, Castle made his way into the kitchen to put a kettle on the stove.

He walked through the dining room, slowly unraveling the scarf from around his neck, oblivious to the display that had been prepared on the dining table. However, he was not deaf to the high pitch whistle that came from the kettle sitting on top the stove. Castle stared at it in shock, before quickly going into action, removing the whistling kettle and snuffing out the flames. He arched his eyebrow and looked around the kitchen, finding everything in its place.

When he returned to the dining room, he stopped in his tracks, now seeing what he had missed in his hurry. The table had been set with all the fixings for late afternoon tea. A silver platter held crackers and meats, some of which had clearly been prepared, not just placed. Alongside them was a small stack of cucumber sandwiches. He looked down at the head of the table, where he found his favorite teacup sitting on a nice floral dish, next to a saucer holding what looked like a small fruitcake.

His jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out of their sockets as he gazed down at the display. A wrought iron holder was already in place for the hot kettle, and Castle set it down, before quietly taking a seat in the chair at the head of the table. Releasing a breath, he let his eyes wander across the spread. He had leant his house key to Mrs. O'Malley, so she could see to some of the housekeeper whilst he was away. Knowing he would be out late, he wondered if she had taken the initiative to prepare this for him.

Shrugging it off his worry as an unhealthy dose of paranoia—no doubt a result from spending hours poured over police reports and witness statements—Castle relaxed and poured himself a cup of tea. He sampled some of the delicacies, and smiled softly to himself. They were all quite delicious. He would have to remember to thank Mrs. O'Malley. The woman probably had some help from her daughter Jennifer. Yes. He would have to remember to thank them both for providing him with some marvelous fixings to go with his tea.

He had just cut a slice from the fruitcake when he noticed a note on the side of the table. Thinking it was from Mrs. O'Malley, he picked it up to read it as he took another sip of his tea. He nearly spit out the hot liquid when he read the note, realizing with startling clarity that it was not from his kindly next-door neighbor.

It read, _Yes. I am still here. Enjoy – KB._

Castle glanced back at the marvelous spread of foods, undoubtedly prepared with thought and care, just for him. This was unlike any haunting he had ever read or heard of. He carefully placed his teacup back on the dish, before reaching down and picking up the fountain pen that had sudden materialized on the side of the dining table. Stifling down the inherent panic—a natural reaction from a species that learned early on to be afraid of the dark—over being visited by an otherworldly specter from beyond the veil, Castle put pen to paper and wrote out a reply.

He wrote, _Thank you for the tea and food. It is all delicious. My compliments to you, Katherine._

Castle put the fountain pen down next to the paper, and sighed, not expecting any immediate answer. So he was both surprised and delighted when the paper and pen suddenly began to move. He watched in fascination when they seemed to realign themselves on the table, as if to face someone sitting in the chair to his left. He swallowed, eyes scanning the empty space, searching for evidence of the spirit he knew must be there, but could find none. The pen lifted up in the air, floating there for but a moment, before the nib touched the parchment. He pursed his lips, suppressing a gleeful smile as he was finally witness to his ghostly companion answering him_._

_It was my pleasure, Richard. Enjoy your meal_, she wrote.

He then felt the phantom touch of a hand over his, causing gooseflesh to materialize and spread as the sensation moved up his arm. The room grew chilly, and he could have sworn it felt like a hand was giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. There was the brief echo of what sounded like a sigh, and then silence.

Castle called her name softly, hoping for another reply, but he was not holding his breath. She had already bestowed him with a wonderfully extraordinary gift. He murmured a soft 'thank you' to the empty room, before enjoying the rest of his meal.


	8. Winter 1891 (part 1)

**The Haunting - Chapter 8**

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><p><em>Winter 1891<em>

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><p>Richard Castle had had a productive fall, thanks in large part to his muse. Conversing with the shade of the late Katherine Beckett had inspired him. The words just… flowed. His creativity sparked like never before. His mind was constantly thinking, developing new ideas or storylines, unable to rest until he put them down on paper. As a result, his writing style grew and improved. He learned to become efficient with his time, never once wasting a second that could not be spent on writing. As a result of this explosion of imaginativeness, his serials of <em>Jameson Rook's Fantastical Guide to the World of the Unexplained<em> enjoyed a surge in popularity, leading to Black Pawn Publishing House approaching him with an offer to publish the collection of serials in a novel. He was still under contract with the newspaper. So he was still considering their offer.

On another front, Castle was just as successful. With the help of the young Constable Kevin Ryan, he had uncovered evidence of police reports relating to the Joseph Pulgatti case being tampered with. The discovery had happened completely by accident. They were reviewing some of the case files from the same inspectors who had investigated the Robert Armen murder, when Castle noticed some discrepancies in the typeface. The ink ribbon used to alter portions of the reports had been different from the one originally used when the report had been typed up and filed. It was enough to convince Ryan that something dubious was afoot.

It was not much, but it was a start.

The young constable was a big help in his investigation, and was also becoming a fast friend. They would often have long talks about other matters during the lulls in the investigation. It was during one of these after hour meetings at the brownstone where Kevin Ryan met Mrs. O'Malley's daughter for the first time. Jennifer O'Malley had stopped by with a hearty stew her mother had cooked for Castle—his neighbor was always concerned he never ate proper meals. She had told him once that writers always had their heads in the clouds and would forget the little things, like eating and such. Castle did not dispute her assertion, since the result was free home cooked meals.

Kevin Ryan and Jennifer O'Malley were well suited, and it was not long after their first meeting that the young constable came calling upon Miss O'Malley. Castle was happy for his friend. Jennifer was a fine young woman, from a good family. And the two were… well, adorable together. Castle watched from the sidelines, unexpectedly envious of his friends. His envy was not because he yearned for female companionship. No. He had that with a certain shade from beyond. What really made him envious was that simple fact that Ryan got to touch and kiss his ladylove.

The simple act of touching her was beyond Castle's grasp. The irony of such a statement did not go unnoticed by him.

Castle had been haunted by the caress she should never have given him. After that first occurrence that night, he had had trouble sleeping. He would stay up late into the night, tossing and turning, unable to keep the memories from resurfacing to taunt him with the possibilities. A sane man would have been scared out of his wits. But it was probably safe to say that Castle was not entirely sane. In his mind's eye, he would envision Katherine Beckett in all her beautiful glory. He had little difficulty imagining her standing before him, gazing lovingly at him with her gorgeous eyes and coy smile. After all, he had stared at her portrait for so long that he had her beautiful features memorized.

Her hauntings had become more frequent, more visible and brazen. They would have brief conversations. He would go to her run, place a piece of parchment on the flat surface of the vanity and speak to her. She would write back. He would stare in amazement and awe at his favorite fountain pen as it floated in the air, hovering above the paper before her elegant cursive would answered him.

It was now early December and snow was falling outside the windows. All the trees had lost their leaves, resembling gnarled hands reaching out of the ground, backlit by a full moon. The imagery made him think of the writings of Edgar Allan Poe. The cold had started to seep into the brownstone. Castle rummaged around downstairs for some firewood to stack in the hearth in the study. With the success of his stories, he was able to afford the very best quality lumber. It took him a while, but eventually he got a fire brewing, and he sat back, rubbing his hands together as he soaked up the warmth emitting from the fireplace.

Castle set his fountain pen down on his desk, and waited for Katherine to make her presence known. He knew it would not take long. They had developed a routine, and it was fast approaching the witching hour. Castle had learned through some of his research into the occult, along with an interview with a dubious carnival medium, that the veil between worlds was weakest then, and Katherine's influence in the world of the living was stronger. So he patiently waited for the appointed time. The study was nice and toasty when she finally arrived. By contrast, her phantom caresses were cold, sending shivers down his spine. Despite that, he delighted in her ghostly touch, only wishing he could return it. Inhaling a deep breath, Castle watched as the pen lifted up into the air and gracefully swirled over the parchment on the desk.

_I am here_.

He smiled. "I know," he said aloud. "God, Katherine, I wish I could touch you."

_Me too, _she replied_._

He sighed, carding his fingers through his hair, anxious. After attending brunch with Kevin and Jennifer that morning, Castle had made a decision. He was probably insane, but he could no longer deny the feelings that had developed over the course of last year living and breathing the same air as the ethereal spirit that haunted his home.

"Katherine, I have to tell you something," he announced, voice wavering slightly with the weight and import of what he was about to say.

_Yes, Richard?_ she prompted when he stalled in a futile attempt to delay things.

Swallowing past the lump that had formed in his throat, Castle closed his eyes, sighing with contentment as he felt the tingling sensation of her ghostly fingers caressing the side of his face, encouraging him by letting him know that she was there. Opening his eyes, he stared straight ahead. His gut told him that that was where she was standing. He inhaled deeply, feeling more sure of this than he had of anything else in his life.

"This is probably completely mental, but Katherine… I love you," he declared to the empty room, partly feeling like a fool. His heart pounded beneath his chest as he felt a tremendous weight lift off his shoulders at his confession. And then he repeated himself, so she would know he was dead serious. "I love you, Katherine."


	9. Winter 1891 (part 2)

**The Haunting - Chapter 9**

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><p><em>Winter 1891<em>

* * *

><p>Richard Castle was in love with a ghost, there was no denying it. He had never met her, never really seen her, yet he knew without a doubt in his heart and mind that he was in love with Katherine Houghton Beckett. She had been with him, in this house, for over a year—his one constant companion. They had conversed, communicating across the veil, corresponding on many subjects. She understood him better than any other woman ever had. But she was dead, nothing but a spirit that haunted the rooms of the brownstone that had formerly been her home. Yet that did not change the fact that he loved her, with every fiber of his being.<p>

"I love you, Katherine," he repeated again to the empty room, a happy smile breaking across his face. Now that he had said it, he could not contain himself. He loved her, and it filled his heart with joy, even if the circumstances were bizarre and utterly insane.

The room suddenly became deathly cold. He shivered, but refrained from curling in on himself for warmth. An unnatural breeze blew through the room, whipping around him like a hurricane. The candlelight flickered, but did not go out. His heart pounded beneath his chest, but he was not afraid. He could never be afraid of Katherine or the strange, unearthly powers she could manifest in her attempts to reach out into his plane of existence. It was like she was trying to break free.

And then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

Castle stood still, frozen, waiting to see if she would respond. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he held his breath, hoping and praying he had not just made a complete fool of himself. He did not have to wait long. It was gradual, at first, but the room temperature decreased until he was chilled to the bone. He knew from experience that the chilly air was a sign of her presence.

And then it happened. He felt her phantom touch, the ghosting of finger tips along his jaw, and then, just as he opened his mouth to repeat his declaration for a fourth time, he was silenced by a dazzling sensation along his lips. It was an odd sensation, both warm and cold. He closed his eyes and sighed, relishing in what could only be a kiss from his ghostly love, a stupendous and amazing kiss. Castle could feel some pressure along the sides of his face, as if someone was cradling his jaw. The sensation caused his spine to shiver and gooseflesh to materialize along his arms. His skin tingled from her ethereal touch.

The pressure along his lips dissipated and Castle whimpered in unashamed delight as he felt a shiver tingle up along the side of his face, the chilly breeze of her ghostly breath along the shell of his ear. And then it happened, a glorious thing. It was faint, so very faint, but he heard it. He heard her voice, like a gentle sigh of wind.

"_I love you_."

He let out a groan, could not help it. The gentle sigh against the shell of his ear was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Ethereal music. It was like a dream. He had trouble believing it was reality, yet there it was, being whispered into his ear again. He could feel a cold brush of air with each inclination. It was wondrous, like nothing he had ever experience before. His heart swelled, and he tilted his head, as her soft unearthly fingers carded through his hair. The skin on the back of his neck tingled, and he shivered, feeling a coldness seep into his bones. He succumbed to his feelings, moaning as once again her phantom lips pressed against his.

And then, far too soon, it was over. There was a shuddering sigh and a whirl of wind around him, and then the room temperature returned to normal. Castle reached up with a shaky hand, brushing his fingertips along his numb lips, over sensitize from her ghostly kisses. He blinked once or twice, before coming back from his blissful high. Flicking his eyes up, he spied the movement of his favorite fountain pen as it floated gracefully across a piece of parchment before it collapsed back to the flat surface, finished. He stepped over to his desk, picked up the scrap of paper, and stared at her familiar cursive handwriting.

_I love you. Always_.

Castle inhaled a deep breath, filling his lungs to the max. His hearth thumped profoundly beneath his chest, drumming out a beat that had never before been present in him, at least not to this degree. The situation was beyond complicated, and any outsider would think him completely mad, but he did not care. Katherine Beckett loved him. And furthermore, she had left him written proof of that love. Tonight had been one of the singular most extraordinary moments of his life.

And he would never be the same again.


	10. Winter 1892

**The Haunting - Chapter 10**

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><p><em>Winter 1892<em>

* * *

><p>It was the anniversary of the tragic death of the young and beautiful Katherine Houghton Beckett.<p>

Richard Castle sat alone in his parlor that night, the flickering light from the fire in the hearth the only light to fight off the darkness. The winter cold had seeped into the brownstone without any opposition. Outside the snow fell steadily, painting the streets in a lovely layer of white.

Castle leaned back in armchair, sighing. It had been several days since Katherine's spirit had come to visit him. After that first night in December, it had seemed like she pushed more and more to break across the veil between their worlds. They had shared another kiss on New Year's Eve when the clock struck twelve and it officially became January 1st, 1892. Her touches had become more real. Her kisses had become more intense and passionate. He still shivered at the memory of her fingers carding through his hair. And the ghostly whisper of her voice had become stronger.

Then suddenly it stopped.

She... disappeared, for lack of a better word.

It took him but a night to realize why.

He wished that there were something he could do for her, to make her happy and less sad. But he could not. Katherine's chance at true happiness had been taken away from her the day she had been poisoned. With her vanishing act, Castle had spent more time investigating her murder, a task her energetic visitations had distracted him from. It had become more difficult, the leads were drying up, and he kept running into dead ends. And it did not help that Constable Kevin Ryan was less focused now that he had proposed to Jennifer O'Malley. The two were set to marry soon. The expensive embossed invitation still sat unopened on the credenza in the foyer.

Castle rubbed his hands together and hunched closer to the fire, fighting off the chill in the air. Usually he would be thrilled with a drop in room temperature, as it would usually forecast the imminent arrival of his beloved. Yet this chill was not supernatural in nature. Tugging the knitted blanket—a Christmas gift from his kindly neighbor, Mrs. O'Malley—more snuggly around his shoulders, Castle shifted around in the armchair to find a more comfortable spot.

But just as the warmth was beginning to return to his bones, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and gooseflesh materialize along his arms. A tingling shiver ran down his spine, his eyes widen and his heartbeat quickened, but he tempered it, not wanting to give rise to false hope. He did not expected her tonight of all nights.

Then he felt it.

He closed his eyes and exhaled a soft moan of a sigh. The ripple of contentment flowed throughout his body at the sensation of her phantom touch, fingers combing through his thick hair, brushing the strands that had flopped over his forehead back. She loved his hair. He would always end up with tousled hair whenever they had shared kisses. Her soft ghostly giggles would linger in the air was he would inevitably attempt to smooth out his mussed head of hair. After all, though he would deny it vigorously, he was a dandy, and cared deeply about his appearance, however he did not mind the disheveled look when it had been a result of Katherine's adoring attentions.

"I thought you would not come tonight," Castle spoke to the empty room. An outsider would question his sanity. He knew better. And would use his profession as an excuse, saying that it 'helped to talk out loud when formulating ideas for the next chapter'. _Jameson Rook's Fantastical Guide to the World of the Unexplained_ was doing quite well. He struck him suddenly that his life was imitating art… or was it the other way around?

Her cool breath danced across his cheek, and he could have sworn he felt her lips brush against the shell of his ear. "I am so sorry, Richard," came Katherine's faint voice. He almost had to strain to hear it. "So, so sorry."

"No, no," he shook his head, frowning in frustration, wishing that he could do more than speak words of comfort to his ghostly love. He longed to hold her in his arms, cradle her head in his palms, and smother her in kisses. "You do not need to apologize, Katherine. I understand completely."

"No, you do not," came the whisper of her angelic voice against his ear. Her intonations were indicative of someone suffering from grief, sorrow, and regret. However there was something else there, something that was quite the opposite.

"I know what today is, Katherine," he asserted calmly, proud of the steadiness of his voice despite the terrible weight of sadness over what had happened to her this very night, all those years ago. "Today is the day you died."

"Yes," was her response.

"I am sorry."

"Do not be. It was not your doing."

His throat clenched and he shook his head, waving off her soothing touch. _He_ should be the one doing the comforting, not _her_! "It has been two years, Katherine. Two years. And I am still nowhere closer to finding out who did this to you." Tears threatened to fall. "You deserve justice, Katherine."

She was silent. Castle knew how she felt about him investigating her death. But he could not help himself. Such injustice could not stand. She had been such a vibrant young woman. Her murder had been a crime against the world. He sniffled and wiped at his nose, almost embarrassed at his near sobbing. But he could never really feel shame when showing his emotions in front of Katherine.

The room chilled and the flames in the fireplace flickered low, nearly snuffing out. He heaved in a deep breath, and waited. It started slowly, but a faint blue wisp of light flickered into existence mere inches from his face. It sparked again, brighter this time. It was like a haze of fog light, soft and glowing. He stared in awe as the glow expanded, gradually growing stronger and stronger. And then, with a concussion of air, she was there. At least… an image of her.

Katherine Beckett stood before him, a shimmering glowing form of light, like looking at a reflection in glass. She was breathtakingly beautiful, as stunning as the portrait that rested on the table beside his bed. And so young. So very young. She had been nineteen when she died. Too young. He swallowed, suddenly feeling inexplicitly guilty, but the feeling soon passed. Many men married women far younger than them. And besides, he was only in his early thirties, and if Katherine had not died, there would only have been a nine or ten year age difference between them. That was not as bad as some of the other relationships he had seen, where the bride was young enough to be the groom's daughter, or—in some extreme cases—granddaughter.

He stared up at her in awe, almost not believing the vision of ethereal beauty before him. "How?"

She smiled at him, a demure, shy smile, ducking her head bashfully, before she looked into his eyes. "It was… very difficult," she answered, her poise and grace very telling of her upbringing. She had been taught to be a lady; her intimate kisses notwithstanding. She smirked, proud of herself. "But I like a challenge."

"You are beautiful," he blurted out, unable to keep his mouth shut. He gazed up in awe at her glowing form. It was odd. He could see through her, and there was this blue aura about her, distorting her natural colors. But it was her... really her! Tears spilled out of his eyes, happy tears. He stood up quickly, and Katherine skirted back, startled. Her form faded momentarily, before stabilizing once again. She smiled shyly, tugging her lower lip under her teeth. It was adorable.

"It's like a dream," Castle murmured in wonder, still struggling to believe he was really seeing this vision of utter beauty before him. "How?" he repeated absently, not really able to control himself.

She blinked, and ducked her head, her smile faltering for a second or two before a mask formed over her perfect features. "Tonight is the night I died."

It took him but a moment to realize what she had said, and why. "Oh," he swallowed, turning away, shamefaced. He was being an insensitive cad, only thinking of himself. "I am sorry."

"Do not be, Richard. I told you, it was not your doing."

Castle nodded tentatively, fingers twitching to reach out and touch her, though he knew it was impossible. He sighed, and looked into her eyes, seeing the love he had for her reflected back at him. He smiled, feeling his heart lift with joy at finally being able to look upon the face of the woman he loved, even if he could see the mantelpiece through her skull.

"I love you," he blurted out, unable to stop himself.

She beamed at him, her smile brighter than a thousand suns. "I love you, too, Richard." She stepped closer to him, reaching up with a hand to lightly brush her fingertips along his jaw. The chilly tingle made him shiver in anticipation. Castle kept his eyes open; he wanted to memorize every second of this glorious encounter. Katherine inched closer, pushing up to capture his mouth with his.

He gasped, startled at the feel of it. It was different than any of their other kisses… more real. He moaned into her mouth, surprised at her aggressiveness. Hesitantly, Castle brought a hand up and ghosted (an ironic use of the word to be sure) his fingers down the back of her head. He was surprised when he could feel the fine strands of her luscious hair. How was that possible? Her palms moved to rest on his chest as she keened into him. It was like she was real. But that… that was impossible? His mind wanted to find a logical explanation. But the way her lips moved against his drew his focus. He would ponder about it later.

For now, he would just marvel at the wonder of it.

Too soon she began to fade. She pulled back, her ghostly face beaming with joy and love. "I cannot stay much longer," she spoke urgently, the desperation and regret ringing in her voice. "I am sorry. Oh… I… oh, I wish for so much."

Castle swept his hand down the side of her face to soothe away her apologies. They were unnecessary. He did not know what it was costing her to materialize before him. And part of him did not want to know. For the most part, though, he was just so overjoyed that he could finally feel the elegant curve of her cheek against his palm. She closed her eyes and eased into his touch.

"I am yours," he asserted, perhaps foolishly, considering the circumstances. "Always."

Her eyes widened in surprise at his firm declaration. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could speak, the blue aura around her ghostly frame began to fade away, and soon after, so did she. Within moments she was gone. Castle was left with an image of her large eyes staring up at him with an odd mixture of relief, love, worry, and despair.

He sighed, and slumped back into his chair. Perhaps he was a fool for falling in love with a ghost and not a living, flesh and blood woman. But he did not care. No woman could possibly compare to Katherine Beckett, especially now that he had been granted the privilege to look upon her breathtaking splendor.

He was a man in love, and nothing would stop him.


	11. Spring 1892

**The Haunting - Chapter 11**

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><p><em>Spring 1892<em>

* * *

><p>Katherine Beckett was angry with him. There was no denying that.<p>

The moment he stepped foot across the threshold and closed the door, a book came flying at him. He had to duck his head to avoid getting hit. It bounced off the door and landed unceremoniously on the floor. He dropped his leather satchel bag and bent down to retrieve the book, just in time, it would seem, as he narrowly missed another sailing tome. Despite the seasonally warm temperatures outside, the brownstone's foyer was frosty. His arms and legs erupted in gooseflesh, and the small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, all resulting in a shiver running down his spine.

Castle flicked his eyes up just in time to see a rather thick book float through the doorway that led into the study. He watched with an odd mixture of amusement and fear as it swung back. The moment it was launched towards him, Castle moved, pushing up on his legs and doing a little twirl, just barely avoiding getting his head wacked by the thick tome.

Her frustrated growl was unmistakable. It was oddly adorable. He had to stop himself from laughing. He ducked his head again as another book came flying at him. He listened to the distinct sounds of phantom footsteps as she stalked back into the study, no doubt to replenish her arsenal. Castle could not hold back the half-smirk at the notion of his ghostly companion bombarding him with books from his expansive collection.

Attempting to school his expression—and failing—Castle stepped around the edge of the doorframe and watched with mild amusement as she picked through the shelves, searching for just the right book to throw at him. He could not really see her, of course, but he could see the spines of numerous books shift back and forth, as if on their own accord. She settled on one, and the dark leather bound book slid off the shelf and hovered in the air for a moment, before it was catapulted towards him. He ducked back behind the doorframe, and smirked when it hit the wood and bounced harmlessly to the ground.

_Alright, enough fun, time to find out what is really going on_, Castle told himself, pursing his lips, and quickly putting on a serious expression. He stepped back around the doorframe and entered the study, holding his hands up in supplication and surrender. An angry breeze rustled around him, tousling his perfectly groomed hair, but that was of no consequence.

"Katherine?" he called out, hoping his apologetic tone would appease the poltergeist, even if he did not know what it was he should be sorry for.

A cold wind rushed around him, and he shivered, yet kept his back straight, unwilling to let her get at him with her parlor tricks. Castle knew her game, how she would 'haunt' him. He could hear her growl in the howl of the wind. The tasseled ropes keeping the curtains parted, untangled on their own and the windows were soon covered, blocking out the daylight from outside. He squinted his eyes in the near darkness; the only light came from the doorway that led back to the foyer.

The wind swirled around him, and he let out an unmanly squeak when too chilly knuckles squeezed his earlobe and gave a sharp twist. Her cold breath danced across the side of his face as she squirmed, grimacing at the discomfort her normally delicate fingers inflicted.

"You promised," came her ghostly voice in a harsh hiss, disappointed and angry. "You promised me."

"Apples! Apples!" he cried his safe word, though they had hardly any use of such things as it was not like they would ever really get to be intimate in that way, at least not yet. Though he was determined to find a way. If they could touch and kiss, Castle was certain they could discover a way to consummate their love. But first, he needed to unravel the mystery behind his phantasm's ire.

"You promised, Richard!" she hissed again, her ghostly breath chilling his skin.

"What are you talking about!?" he demanded, torquing his body to the right and wiggling out of her vice-like grip. He spun around, rubbing his ear, and pouting his lower lip, hoping to score some sympathy points with her. It was not to be.

The wind swirled around him, and he let out a yelp of surprise when he felt a sharp pinch on his backside. He jumped and turned around, only to once again find his earlobe locked between two merciless fingers.

"Do you not remember?" she questioned, sounding truly vexed and disappointed. "When I was finally able to materialize, I asked you to do something. You promised me that you would do it."

He squeezed his eyes shut, stifling the discomfort of having her twist his ear, as if he were some naughty little schoolboy—he was most definitely having flashbacks to his boarding school days—and racked his brain for what it was she was talking about. And then it came to him, like the dawning of the sun.

Castle opened his eyes and squinted in the near blackness towards his desk, letting out a sharp gasp when he saw the confirmation. Scattered across the desktop were his files and notes on his investigation into the Joseph Pulgatti case, and Katherine's murder. Understanding came to him, and he clenched his jaw, reaching up to pry her phantom fingers off his ear. It would look strange to an outsider, him grabbing at air and pulling off invisible fingers, but to him it was the new normal of his life. It still amazed him that he could touch her. He had always assumed it would be impossible, but over the course of the last few months, after sharing numerous touches and kisses with his ghostly lover, he had discovered that he could have touched her all along, as long as he knew where to reach.

He clutched her hand in his, not letting her pull away. He could feel the tension in the muscles of her hand, but he refused to let go. She did not plead, or beg, and he held firm. Using his other hand, he followed the path up her invisible arm until he felt her shoulder and neck. He curled his fingers around her jaw, cupping her face in his palm. Confident, if only a little, that he was looking into her eyes, Castle attempted to explain himself.

"I need to find him, Katherine," he asserted to the empty air before him. "I need to give you justice. He…," he choked up a little at this part, and he could feel her stance softening a bit. "He _murdered_ you—took you from me. Cursed our love to this half-existence. I cannot let him get away with such a crime. If he could get away with murder, what other evils is such a man capable of. I know… I know I promised not to continue investigating, that the leads had all turned cold, but I cannot. I… I will not. And I am sorry if that upsets you, but you cannot ask me to let it go. I love you, Katherine… so very much. But your death—_your murder_—is a crime I cannot let go unpunished."

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head forward and sighed with relief when he made contact with her forehead. He listened to her breath, shivering when her other hand came up and touched his face, wiping at the tears that had streamed out.

"Alright," she sighed, her ghostly voice faint but firm. "I may not approve, but I understand. Just promise me that you will be careful. Can you promise me that, Richard?"

"Yes," he affirmed, tilting his head, hoping beyond hope he was staring into her eyes when all he could really see was the bookshelf on the far end of the room. "I can promise you that."

"Then I guess that is all I can ask," Katherine answered, moving her fingers down to nudge his chin down. She pressed up into him, and he sighed, opening his mouth just enough for her forgiving kiss.

He closed his eyes, and let himself imagine her was kissing the beautiful woman in the portrait by his bed, instead of the empty space that stood before him. In his mind, he knew the air in front him was not vacant, but his eyes still had trouble believing.

Castle let out a contented sigh when she pulled back, moving his fingers through the air, searching for the silky strands of her hair. He loved running his fingers through her luscious mane of hair. "Will I see you tonight?" he asked, desperate to see her materialized, and silently wishing that he did not always have to wait for the witching hour.

"I do not know if I am strong enough to do it tonight," she answered, regretfully, caressing his face, making gooseflesh materialize along his neck. "But I will try."


	12. Summer 1892

**The Haunting - Chapter 12**

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><p><em>Summer 1892<em>

* * *

><p>New York was having a mild heat wave. It was hot outside, a humid, oppressive kind of heat. Most of the city's populace remained bunkered down inside their homes. The more affluent peoples of New York City could buy large blocks of ice to help cool down their homes. Richard Castle, however, had no need of such things. The brownstone in which he lived was naturally cool, mostly thanks to the phantom of the beautiful young woman who shared the residence with him.<p>

It was early August, and Castle spent as must time as he could writing. With the success of _Jameson Rook's Fantastical Guide to the World of the Unexplained_, Black Pawned wanted him to produce a new novel about the exploits of the intrepid reporter Jameson Rook and his ghostly love Nicole. Sequels were rare, but both publisher and author were hoping the success of the first novel might perhaps translate into multiple volumes. Book series were even more rare than sequels, but it was an era of new ideas, and Black Pawn was willing to gamble of Castle's ability to tell a terrifically fantastic story.

It was a challenge Richard Castle intended to meet head on.

As a result, he had to back off on his investigations into the murder of his beloved spirit companion. This delighted Katherine, since she had been none too happy over his involvement. He had asked her on occasion if she remembered anything from the time before her death that could point to her poisoner, and she would always assert that she did not. Castle did not like to think that his beloved Katherine would lie to him, but on this matter, he would not put it past her to omit certain truths simply to keep him safe. Because that was why she did not want him investigating. Yes, she wanted answers. Yes, she wanted justice. But not at the expense of the man she loved.

So, Castle relented—at least for a time—and turned his focus to his writing. He would sequester himself away in his study, furiously punching the keys of the typewriter, the latest Remington model. He had indulged himself in the purchase after the success of his debut novel. He had looked at Underwood and Oliver, but it was the Remington's usage of the QWERTY keyboard that sold him. Thought, it was taking him a while to get used to it. He was still learning how to type.

Katherine was teaching herself. On lazy afternoons, he would watch as the keys would move as if by themselves as she practiced. She was quite good at it, too. She would use it to write out little notes for him, which he would then find scattered around the brownstone. Truth be told, he actually missed her elegant cursive handwriting, but Katherine seemed to enjoy learning new things, and especially took to the typewriter, so he held his tongue and basked in the happy aura that flowed through the house.

Presently, Castle was in a writing frenzy. He sat at his desk, back hunched as he punched the keys on the typewriter, letting the words flow. The strain on his neck and back muscles annoyed him; constantly forcing him to pause for brief breaks when all he wanted to do was stab the keys and watch as the words filled the white page. It was an extraordinary feeling, creating a story, and when he was in the zone, all he wanted to do was continue writing and block out the rest of the world.

But alas, existence would often assert itself at inconvenient times, such as now, when a particularly irritating knot started to form between his shoulder blades. It was beginning to really vex him. He had a steady stream of words at the moment, and he did not want to break that flow. The knot became more aggravating as the minutes tick by. He was just about to stop writing, when suddenly gentle cool hands descended upon his shoulders. He sighed, closing his eyes in relief as delicate fingers worked the tender flesh between his shoulders, and kneaded the tense muscles.

The room temperature immediately dropped, becoming pleasantly chilly compared to the bristling heat outside. He felt her icy cold breath against his ear. The hairs along the back of his neck stood on end, and gooseflesh materialized along his skin when she spoke.

"Relax, Richard," she purred, her voice hauntingly beautiful, just as she was. He would oft lie awake in bed staring at her portrait he now kept on the bedside table. He had mesmerized everything about her gorgeous face: Her high cheekbones, the curve of her nose, the seductive tug of her lips, the beauty mark on her left cheek, and the almost hypnotic allure of her eyes. Oh, her eyes. Her eyes were extraordinary. He so desperately wished he could know the color of her eyes.

Her talented fingers pulled him out of his wandering thoughts. She squeezed his shoulders gently, working the stiff muscles with deft ease born from experience. This was not the first time Katherine's cold hands had soothed his tense shoulders, kneading out the knots. His skin buzzed with the sensation, and he closed his eyes, momentarily forgetting everything but her magical touch.

"Oh, yes…," he moaned unabashedly. "Right there."

The quiet giggle of his ghostly companion floated through the air. He pursed his lips and smirked, rolling his neck, and shivered as he felt her hands move down his back, caressing and massaging the tense muscles. Then he felt the cool press of her lips against his neck, and he sighed happily. It was perfect. She knew just what to do to relieve the pressure, and coax him into relaxation.

"Thank you, Katherine," Castle sighed, easing into her tender touch. "I really needed that."

"My pleasure, Richard," she purred in his ear, making him shiver with unseemly and improper thoughts. Oh, how he wished he could act on them. Properly. He wanted to do far more than simply kiss his beloved. But that was all he had, for now, at least. So he would take what he could get.

"How goes the writing?" his ghostly mused asked.

He smiled, letting out a contented breath as he felt her fingers massage his scalp. "Better," he admitted. "I found some inspiration last night."

"Oh, really," she hummed. "And what was that?"

Castle growled, her words causing his insides to inflame with passion. The previous night, Katherine had managed to materialize for an hour longer than ever before. They had spent the night gently caressing one another's faces and sharing languid kisses, making love in an odd sort of way that was uniquely theirs, if not in the traditional sense. Castle wanted so much more than that, to fully show his beloved Katherine just what her presence in his life did, but he would take what little he could get. He always would when it came to her. He loved Katherine Houghton Beckett, and not even the lack of physical intimacy, the kind enjoyed by every living man and woman, could change that.

Castle slowly spun around in his chair, the springs squeaking as he did so. He groped around in the empty air until his hands encountered the cool tingling sensation that indicated Katherine's presence. He gripped her waist and tugged her into his lap. Her soft giggled floated through the air—it was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard—and he grinned, relishing in the feel of her body easing down against his lap and chest. Castle wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathing in the phantasmic scent of cherries. The fruity scent would often linger in a room once she had long departed. He nipped at the empty air where her ear was, and she giggled.

For an outsider, it would be an odd sight indeed, since the receiver of his affection was invisible. But Castle reveled in the closeness of his beloved. He kept one hand secure around her midsection while the other traveled up her neck. He palmed her jaw, and smiled. It was so much easier to kiss her when he was able to hold her face in his hand. It was far easier to kiss when she was able to materialize. But for that, he had to wait for the witching hour.

Her soft fingers caressed his face as she kissed him, her lips dancing over his. He closed his eyes and basked in the bubble of joy this simple act gave him. It was not the easiest relationship to have, when one of the participants was dead, but for now they were making it work. Castle could only hope that, as the poets would say, love would eventually conquer all.


End file.
